


very good bad thing

by aishiteita



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Car Accidents, M/M, Magical Realism, no one dies I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8429350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishiteita/pseuds/aishiteita
Summary: In Junhui's small sleepy town is a serial killer on the loose.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crumbling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crumbling/gifts).



> dear hannah,
> 
> HELLO. i. did not expect u as a recipient, bUT IM GLAD THAT U ARE;; pls don’t take this the wrong way ;;  
> first things first, im sandra, and we've probably only talked to e/o for a grand total of? 2? 3 times? basically Very Little so I kNOW VVVV LITTLE abt ur fic preferences other than soonhui and whatever tidbits of u i find on my tl. ive also been brainwashed by my lit classes talking magic realism so i tried that and failed spectacularly bUT. may this fic be to ur Taste. 
> 
> i guess? i dont have much to say other than good luck w ur school (see. see i dONT EVEN KNOW IF URE WORKING/IN SCHOOL/BOTH) and Life in general. i know ure vvv busy!!! i shall cheer u on in Spirit. in the event that we do Talk after this, hi, hello. im just a bean.
> 
> !!!!!!!! idk how to speak!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i hope u enjoy this fic, bc while alittle Pressurizing it was rly fun to write!! and if u have fun too then im Glad.
> 
> many many hearts from ur local bean,  
> sandra c:
> 
> p.s. to the rest of exchange tl!!! special shoutout to MAMA CAT thank u sososososo very much!! for bringing us unruly bunch together!! i love u all, you're great, every single one of u, and im grateful to get to know svt through this tl. if u do give this an Actual Read, have fun!! pls enjoy ilu all MUACH <3 
> 
> special shoutout to keren, twt user plantgd, ao3 user dlm;; thANK U BRO for being so patient!!! the past week!!!!!! dealing w my needy hedonistic ass!! ilusm?? i owe u The World lopyupul
> 
>  
> 
> warnings for inaccuracies indistance n time i use the MetricSystem

Behind a long row of restaurants are garbage dumps, reeking of a hundred different condiments turned lethally brown, dripping down the sides of green plastic. A man closes the metal door behind him with unnecessary grace, like he's not supposed to be out here to meet Junhui, perched on the ledge, a small pile of stubbed out cigarettes growing by his foot.

"I probably won't scream for help if you plan to murder me," the man says, popping the top two buttons of his stiff uniform open as he stands before the other, hips lazily cocked to one side. He brings along with him the reek of oil that Junhui hopes won't cling onto his clothes. He doesn't want to do laundry for the rest of the week. "But y'know, common courtesy that you don't."

"I'm not here to murder you," Junhui assures him with a chuckle, flicking the cigarette in his hand away to stand up. After patting the dirt off his jeans, he extends a hand towards his counterpart, flashing him a bright smile that plays up to the warmth of tawny hair. "I'm Junhui. Wen Junhui. And you are Kwon Soonyoung, am I correct?"

The man in question pointedly squints at Junhui, shaking his outstretched hand with caution, he notices, grip loose. "And you know how?"

"Funny you ask," Junhui teases, "for someone who doesn't mind getting killed on sight."

"Well, it's natural to feel wary when your privacy is breached." Soonyoung drops his glare and instead points at Junhui's pocket, his pack of Winstons bulging out of tight denim. Junhui nods, offering Soonyoung a stick like he's a long-time friend, and Soonyoung accepts it between greasy fingers in a similar manner, face leaning into Junhui's cupped hands as he lights the cigarette up. Soonyoung inhales, blows out a cloud of grey and grins just a smidge in gratitude. "Right," he breathes. "So. How did you find me, in this podunk of a diner, with knowledge of my full name?"

"You applied for the annual internship program in Nebula," Junhui says, leaning back against a grimy wall. "I'm Professor Park's assistant, I had to go through your files."

"I wasn't aware that Nebula's recruitment service is this personal," Soonyoung quips. He settles next to Junhui, almost a full foot away and it's all sorts of awkward as Junhui watches Soonyoung out of the corner of his eye, his legs restlessly trying to not mimic the way Junhui crosses his one over the other. It's thankfully loud even through the wall, clanging of pots and pans audibly mixed in with the waiter screaming out orders, white noise ample enough to challenge their silence. "My break is ten minutes long."

"Sorry," Junhui mutters. His fingers fiddle with his cardigan then the back of his ear. Soonyoung impatiently knocks his head against the bricked wall, thump sharp and it makes Junhui wince. "Basically, I'm gonna drive you home from work every night," he blurts out in one go, eyes frantically searching about Soonyoung's face but they don't dare meet his gaze. Junhui still notices them widen comically, a blur above Soonyoung's reddening cheeks, but it quickly disappears when he whips his head to the side in a loud cough.

"There's absolutely no need," he balks, sputtering smoke with his words, "to take me home. I have a decent bike and a good helmet."

Junhui is relieved enough to heave a sigh at the fact that Soonyoung didn't slap him in response. With a newfound confidence, he waggles his finger in Soonyoung's face, tutting the whole while. "Uh-uh. There's a serial killer on the loose, and if you watch the news at all, town's orders are that no one is to be alone after dark."

" _Kwon!_ " comes a shrill yell from beyond the metal door, and Soonyoung responds likewise, veins in his neck popping from the exertion. He's still flustered, glancing up and down Junhui like he's a madman. He nearly trips, wordlessly buttoning his uniform back up and swings the metal door open without finesse, hinges grating terribly from rust and it raises the hairs on his arm. Junhui catches a whiff of fried batter and coffee before the door slams in his face.

"I'll be waiting!" Junhui shouts with his hands cupped around his mouth. It’s futile, he thinks, wind howling and scattering his pile of stubbed out cigarette filters.

True to his word, he loiters about the diner until its blinds are drawn, tables wiped down and chairs stacked atop them. Junhui whiles time away rummaging about his glovebox, producing a dubious-looking Subway that doesn't smell too rancid. He goes through half of it halfheartedly, his guts simply not cooperating with the whole process and he chucks it into the bin by the diner's entrance just in time for Soonyoung to come out of the main door.

"I take back what I said," Soonyoung quickly murmurs before Junhui can even acknowledge him with a quick wave. "I don't mind if say you were to immediately stab me, right here, right now. Make it swift and don't beat around the bush." His finger is accusatory, raised close to Junhui's face, almost touching his nose. "Trying to take me home though, be it literal or figurative, I don't appreciate. It's creeping me the fuck out. I don't care that you're from Nebula."

"I can get your internship going as soon as one week from now," Junhui bargains. He has his arms raised to play along with Soonyoung's dramatic outburst, inching closer until his chest nearly brushes against Soonyoung's arm. "And I can definitely make it so that your training period is shorter, your permanent spot guaranteed."

He talks with his voice low, lilting, lids drooping a little, subtle enough for his lashes to cast dark shadows under his eyes. Junhui isn't blind to his own charms. He tips his head over to one side coyly, lips stretched into a measured curve that he knows from experience is the closest thing to the definition of the word _irresistible_. Between them, it smells like tar and nicotine. The foul grease is gone, Soonyoung having changed out of his uniform. Junhui looks down at collarbones barely covered by a t-shirt, much too thin for the weather these days. He also notices the good two inches or so he can lord over Soonyoung.

"I have a bike," Soonyoung retorts, backing away. "I have a very good, very decent bike which I am going to ride home, right now." His helmet is a tacky sky blue to contrast against the dull rusty maroon of his mountain bike with its huge wheels. "Good evening," he says firmly before pedaling away into the streets, a far off dot of red in a matter of seconds. 

Junhui is left in the dust, stomach feeling funny from an expired Subway he now regrets deeply.

 

 

**the psychic will drive you home tonight**

Junhui is driving, his old Toyota barely scratching at the trees as he goes down a narrow road cutting through the woods, right at the outskirts of his small, sleepy town, forever hazy with fog. The car's radio is tuned into one of the two local stations available, but it's horribly choppy, audio dilapidated and it gives him a headache. Junhui can't turn it off however, for fear of silence and the fact that his fingers are glued stuck to the wheel.

There's a sharp turn coming up the corner; he rounds it, unblinking in focus, and the next time he does let his lids slip shut, he opens them to see someone in the periphery of his vision, vacant passenger seat now occupied.

Thing is, Junhui has seen this man from somewhere before. Sharp eyes and sharp nose dulled down by chestnut brown hair framing his high cheeks. He's underdressed for the season in his t-shirt and ripped jeans. Very familiar, and it's unsettling. The radio resumes its efforts, doing its best to crank out every note of the pop song that Junhui can't be bothered to piece together anymore.

The same scenery of fire trickles down the car no matter where he turns, how long he's been on the road, shed leaves showering the world around him and it's hard to even see the grey of asphalt stretched before him. The man next to him doesn't say a word, and Junhui wracks his mind upside-down trying to put a name to the face. He's seen it somewhere, he swears. Somewhere, somewhere white, sometime around a busy afternoon, amidst test tubes and the hum of the centrifuge and _oh._

"Kwon Soonyoung?" he wants to say, turning his head in unison with the other, and right at that moment, the car takes on a life of its own; the steering wheel rotates rapidly to the right, Junhui's hands flying off the leather like it's molten lava. There's a deafening screech of tires against uneven asphalt, a shriek as it hits crumbly soil and a _crash, boom, bang_ of metal and glass meeting timber.

Junhui wheezes through the aftermath, shards of broken glass speckled over him, and he can feel the sting where they scratched his cheeks. Every shaky breath he takes shifts the glass about and they crackle underneath his jittery palms, paralyzed and flat on the seat by his thighs. The radio doesn't help him any, soothing anchor of a rhythm nowhere to be found but it carries on mashing up every commercial under the sun with the chorus of a song he still can't piece together; a huge mess.

There's a loud gasp from next to him, and Junhui whips his head around to the horror of red blooming on the white of Soonyoung's shirt. Lodged in his chest is not a shard of glass, but the blade of a kitchen knife, its hilt black plastic and of a Swiss brand Junhui knows his mother uses. Soonyoung's lips quiver as they parted and Junhui can practically _feel_ his last breath forced out of teeth gleaming scarlet.

It's at that moment that Junhui hears his spine crack, something digging fast and deep past his ribs. He can feel the cold burn of steel chafing at the walls of his heart with every beat, how it gets harder to breathe and the seconds slow as the leaves stop falling to drown in a sickening red—

—he wakes in a cold sweat, shirt clinging uncomfortably on his skin and moving along with his chest as he pants, air heavy and hot with summer's mugginess still clutching onto the new fall, unrelenting. When he finally calms down, his shirt has dried down to a sticky damp patch around its neckline, clock showing the time to be a quarter past eight in the morning. Junhui groans into his palms, glancing at the sticky note on his nightstand that has an ongoing tally on it. According to said tally, he has slept through his seven-thirty alarm thrice this week alone, adding up to a grand total of sixteen replays of the same goddamned dream, excluding the morning's latest addition—he adds one wobbly line—seventeen.

There's no time for breakfast or fancy hair gel but his car is intact, the radio works swell, and the lab is a fifteen-minute drive of bland houses by streetlamps on asphalt from his building. Professor Park nags at him as per usual, and he checks the pile of internship applications to find Soonyoung's face frowning at him from a photocopied ID. Junhui has never met him until last night, so it's absurd that he's memorized the man's features off the top of his head. The thought becomes less cute when accompanied by images of a bleeding chest, knife stuck in the flesh of Soonyoung's still-beating heart.

 _Velvet Diner_ , his resume reads, and Junhui makes a beeline to the restaurant complex downtown upon clocking out of the lab at seven p.m. sharp.

" _—rial killer. The suspect was the last victim's bully, but the school confirms his alibi last Friday afternoon, three p.m. to five p.m., when the crime had approximately occurred, the coroners said. Town security will ensure that—_ "

Junhui narrows his eyes at the red light, green never coming and he's miffed at how the mandatory seven-fifteen announcement just has to cut off Carly Rae Jepsen, of all singers. The announcement drags on, keeping his pulse harried until he sees the diner's sign by the curb, the glaring red neon 'V' blinking at him.

Soonyoung's grin sours into a dirty scowl when he sees that it's Junhui walking through the doors. "How can I help you?" he greets, but it's obligatory, and Junhui does little other than beam at the shorter man. It's the small things that will ultimately tip Soonyoung over the edge, he believes, and get his under-embellished ass into Junhui's car, and ultimately into Nebula Incorporated, and hopefully far, far away from harm.

Junhui frankly doesn't care much for his dreams or him dying in them, for that matter. Everyone has experienced the toe-curling adrenaline of falling off a cliff at least once in their subconscious. He frankly doesn't care about Soonyoung either, because Soonyoung's application form showed nothing but a great tendency to work in diners and a self-proclaimed talent in keeping cultures alive for longer than the average student. Nothing special. His face doesn't look like he'd survive being cooped up in a lab with Professor Park for longer than an hour anyway.

The overlying sense of guilt doesn't leave him, however, not since the fifth recurrence of the dream. He would go through the never-ending mountain of application forms, and Soonyoung's would peek out of the pile to haunt him. Junhui actually gets anxious holding his kitchen knife, these days.

Now, Junhui has never really pegged himself as a rational man, despite being in research and harboring a strong disbelief in the supernatural. He's loud and impulsive, milling about town with caution thrown out of the window because he's had enough of that in the lab. Junhui talked it out with himself for a grand total of twenty minutes over his quarter pounder after the thirteenth dream, that he will have to probably meet Soonyoung in the flesh and ensure the man's safety in turn for his own peace of mind. How he justifies this is that there's a serial killer roaming the place since late May; it is currently late September, and the police have made no progress whatsoever in catching the cause of so far, five murders. Junhui went through about five different blogs and two psych journals to make sure that his dream is entirely figurative, because he's been inexplicably fretful lately, ever since the killer showed up and the dreams started, heart leaping out of his chest whenever the shower hits his back too cold at first, icy and he can feel the phantom blade jabbing deep, breaking past his spine.

"So should I find this guy and actually make sure he doesn't die?" he confided in Professor Park a few days ago. The centrifuge's run sounded like a storm within the lab's thick walls, and Junhui actually shouted out the question more than asked. Park gawked at him, his round-rimmed glasses glinting and Junhui watched the corners of his wrinkly mouth curl in distaste.

"Get a shrink," Professor Park spat, refusing to give Junhui any more of his attention and went back to fixing his slides.

And get a shrink Junhui did, appointment scheduled right after the fifteenth dream. It's one of the town's more recent buildings, right next to the university he works in, taller than everything else within the town's sixty-mile radius and the elevator ride up got him nauseous with vertigo.

"I think it's your subconscious trying to remind you of someone in the past," Madam Qian explained, hand gestures too frivolous for Junhui to really focus on anything. "Maybe he's a childhood acquaintance."

"I don't remember him at all," Junhui calmly responded after feigning a trip down memory lane just to amuse his psychiatrist, who is coincidentally the only psychiatrist in town, whose observations were of little to no relevance and hourly rate exorbitant. Logging onto Reddit for the same amount of time would give him more answers. "But I don't remember a lot of things, so yes, maybe."

"You should try sticking with your guts for this one," she rambled on, encouraged by Junhui's ever-present smile. "There's more to gain than lose anyway! Worst case scenario, he refuses and you back off. At most you'll get a new friend. Safety in numbers, especially with that killer out in the streets." 

Junhui held onto her basic reasoning as he drove to the Velvet Diner for the first time, the inside of his head a mess as he kept glancing at the rearview mirror, schooling his face into something presentable and weighing sentence after sentence to make sure they don't roll off his tongue funny.

"Good evening!" Soonyoung had said, dismissing Junhui with a harsh kick to his pedals. So he failed the first time. Big deal. Junhui won't stop until Soonyoung calls the cops on him. The sheer idea of this act seems unsavory, but Junhui convinces himself, and hopefully the universe, that this is all part of a bigger picture and a greater good for the two of them.

He raises two fingers up, flashing Soonyoung his teeth generously and it just makes the latter frown harder. "Two of your club sandwiches to go, please. And two cups of your house brew, piping hot." Soonyoung scribbles down the order sluggishly in an almost illegible scrawl, and just before he heads to the kitchen, Junhui halts him with a bold tug of his sleeve. "Make that two sandwiches, two coffees, but keep one set warm, because I will be picking it up later."

Soonyoung glares at Junhui incredulously, mouth agape as he slips the order to the kitchen staff and disappears through the back door. Junhui takes a step to follow, but sharp nails dig into his arm, and he turns around to meet a heavily made-up woman working the cash register.

"That'll be fifteen bucks," she deadpans, palm open without looking at Junhui. "Two-dollar surcharge for the special request."

***

Junhui meets Soonyoung behind the diner like he did the first time after hastily paying for his meal. It's colder this evening. Junhui feels chilly even with his cardigan on, but Soonyoung doesn't seem to care at all, the top two buttons of his uniform open as he takes a long drag from his cigarette.

"When do you plan to stop smoking?" Junhui asks him, loud and unabashed as he steps over to where Soonyoung is squatting on the ledge, corner still charred from Junhui's pile the other night.

Soonyoung gives him a withering look, blows smoke in Junhui's direction. "I don't know," he mumbles, "you?"

"If you let me drive you home, I will," Junhui dares. He means it too, actually, because Junhui doesn't like effort even if he's resigned himself to the fact that this entire endeavor with Soonyoung and his dreams will take just that. If this outrageous promise will get Soonyoung into his car, out of the open streets on his vulnerable bike and thus away from the serial killer's grasp, then so be it. Junhui doesn't like smoking that much in the first place. He'll live. He'll chew gum. Professor Park will hate the sound, but he should rejoice over the fact that his best assistant in the whole wide world is going to be alive for maybe five years longer.

Soonyoung scoffs in disbelief, flicking ash onto Junhui's denim like it isn't rude at all. Junhui tries to not be offended. "You're kidding me," Soonyoung says, and Junhui admits that it's fascinating how Soonyoung smokes like a teenager; sucking in too quickly, too harsh as the filter pulls off with a pop, letting most of the smoke escape before he gets a chance to inhale, exhale.

"I'm not kidding you," Junhui promises, brows raised with a slight shake of his head. "I'll give you my pack, and I assure you I won't be smoking anymore. You can give me breath checks."

He can hear Soonyoung mumble _gross_ under his breath, getting up to walk past Junhui back into the diner. The metal door slams closed, hinges still horrifically rusty and whiny, and Junhui is still unsure whether or not Soonyoung will be taking him up on his offer. Again, he'd pay a fortune for someone to clearly explain the pertinence of Soonyoung's decision and well-being to his own, all from some stupid dream that's been giving him the heebie-jeebies. He checks the time on his phone—barely nine o'clock, and the diner closes at midnight.

The cashier glowers at him when he walks back in, his sandwich and coffee grown cold as it sits out by the cash register, and she mutters something about another two-dollar surcharge if he wants to keep the other set warm by closing time.

Junhui wastes about twenty minutes chomping slowly on his cold, poorly-assembled sandwich in the quiet of his car. That's twenty minutes off his three-hour wait, and Junhui decides with a coin throw that he would go through at least five pages of today's report before napping the last couple of hours away.

It's when he's proofreading one of the tables, blurring in and out of sleep, that he sees a dark figure in the corner of his eye. Junhui thrashes in his seat, adrenaline shooting up his system and he scans the entire parking lot, but there's no one around him save for a couple of lone cars, driver seats empty. His radio, switched off, shows the time to be three minutes to ten, and Junhui keeps his gaze trained onto the colon between the hours and the minutes, blinking slowly at him as he evens out his breathing. There's a still quality to the silence surrounding him, something not quite right, and he turns the radio back on with shaky fingers to one of the stations that's playing country music. The volume knob is twisted all the way right, much further than necessary, the horrible twang of banjo strings drowning out how foggy it's getting outside. Junhui curls himself away from the windshield, nuzzling into the smoothened leather of his seat. He drifts to an uneasy fit of sleep, the last thing he sees being the shift knob, reminding him of a black hilt meeting red.

***

Junhui wakes to a start, nearly jumping out of his seat upon hearing someone knocking on the car's window. He heaves a sigh of relief seeing that it's only Soonyoung. The radio, having gone to sleep mode, shows the time to be half past twelve midnight.

Blearily, he rolls down the window, letting Soonyoung peek his head in. "I'm taking you up on your offer," he announces, and Junhui doesn't have time to dig the gunk out of his eyes before they widen into saucers, corners stinging from where his tears had gathered and dried.

That's how Junhui ends up clearing his passenger seat for the first time in years, chucking his papers and the takeout box from earlier to the backseat. His coffee is gone for no reason, but Junhui believes that he must've thrown it out right before falling asleep (he must've, because otherwise, it has literally disappeared into thin air, and the possibility of that happening is not something Junhui wishes to delve into). Soonyoung makes himself comfortable in the newfound seat, leather rougher and newer than Junhui's which has embarrassingly conformed to the shape of his bottom, leather worn and the shine looks cheap because he never bothered to maintain it.

"Do you not feel cold?" Junhui can't help but ask, noticing that Soonyoung is once more wearing nothing but a t-shirt and ripped jeans inside a car with busted air conditioning.

To be fair, on Soonyoung's lap is a container of sandwich not unlike Junhui's own, except it's still warm, steam fogging up the box's sides and he has a cup of hot coffee in one hand. Soonyoung shakes his head in response, sipping his coffee so leisurely Junhui wonders if his tongue gets scalded at all.

"That sandwich and coffee is for you. How did you know?" he asks again, but Soonyoung doesn't answer. Junhui shrugs, starts up the car, and the engine roars to life in time with silver cutting through his field of vision. Soonyoung pulls his lips away from the cup. They're pink and a little puffy from the heat; he's not immune after all.

"This is a really small town," Soonyoung says, nonchalantly ignoring Junhui's question and acting like he's not holding a knife to Junhui's face. There's a stray thought of whether Soonyoung would mind being a tad louder, for Junhui's ease of hearing. He doesn't voice this out, of course, there's a knife right before his nose and to say that he's fine would be lying. "The cops are fucking useless, so I won't call them. And yes, I know I said murder me, and I still want you to! But you're not, or you're doing it too slowly." Soonyoung pauses for a quick breath, his hold on the knife loosened and the blade almost grazes Junhui's lips. "I would've been okay with a quick death, y'know? But I don't like this... slow, calculated sort. Plus, there's that serial killer on the loose, and I'm ninety-eight percent sure you're him."

"The other two percent?" Junhui chances the question, grinning through the words.

"If you drive me home safe and sound, no funny business throughout, I might be inclined to throw off the balance to seventy percent." Soonyoung takes another sip of his coffee before adding, "I will also seriously consider your offer of driving me home from work, and that deal you gave me for Nebula—I'll hear you out properly."

Junhui chuckles at that. "That's generous."

"That's just what I am," Soonyoung preens. "Anyway, the Lilac Building. Take me there."

Junhui revs up the engine, knife in his face, foot steady on the accelerator as he pulls out to the road. "What a coincidence," he muses, "I live in the Lilac Building too."

A nervous cough forces itself out of Soonyoung's throat, and it keeps going, hiding the low whisper of _stalker_ Junhui hardly makes out. It's a sharp, thorny camaraderie they have going on, and it's most definitely nothing like what Junhui expected their first drive together to be. 

Between the winding road unfolding before him in stark clarity as the fog clears and the knife that eventually does end up touching his lips, Junhui feels that it's going to be a long way until they reach home. Granted, the utensil has a red hilt with no brand on it, but if dreams are prophecies, Junhui has never been that good at literary analysis, and he won't be surprised if he ends up dead tonight.

 

 

**nasty neighbor complex**

"Have you settled for an intern?" Professor Park asks, feigning interest as he sips on his mug of herbal tea. Junhui hates it when he takes the liberty of drinking in the lab, which you're not supposed to do, but it's his lab, so he does it anyway. It reeks of old age and reminds Junhui of stuffy family reunions over at his late grandfather's.

"I have, actually," Junhui informs him, swiveling about his chair and presenting Soonyoung's file to the older man. "Kwon Soonyoung. Fresh off college. I think this is all part of his five-year program but yeah, he seems alright."

"You know me better than most, Junnie," Park sighs, lazily grabbing the file off Junhui's hands and tosses it over to his desk. That means he's going to read it in give or take three days. "Your salary is a testament to this. Please don't fail me."

Junhui doesn't know who to feel sorrier for, Soonyoung or Professor Park, in regards to this hasty decision he's based entirely off his dreams and one useless trip down to the psychiatrist. The tally has reached eighteen, and Junhui thinks he should feel bad for getting excited over the big two-oh that he hopes to achieve by the end of the week.

He drives to the diner later, a little nervous because the idea of steering a car half-asleep with a knife occasionally pressing against his lips isn't the most appealing. And Soonyoung doesn't have the physical capability to hold the knife up for that long while munching on his sandwich, so the blade goes lower and lower to the point where it's right before Junhui's throat. Truly an adrenaline rush. Junhui has wondered more than once whether he has a knife fetish or not, but his very scared, very flaccid genitalia had suggested that it's the latter.

"Break!" Soonyoung shouts to the other waiter when he spots Junhui walking into the establishment. He disappears through the back door, as usual (if two meetings count as 'usual'), and Junhui follows him out. They settle down on the ledge, by the huge bin that's fortunately clear today, and Soonyoung offers him a cigarette to which Junhui shakes his head. He produces his half-finished pack of Winstons to Soonyoung, whose eyes widen in awe.

"Wow," Soonyoung exclaims, taking the pack gratefully. "You're not kidding. You're really not gonna smoke anymore." He nods to Junhui, impressed, and goes back to the task of lighting up the cig while Junhui toys around with the hem of his cardigan. It's an oddly cold October.

"I'm a good guy, evidently," he proudly states, but he's inhaling the secondhand smoke anyway out of comfort. Okay, so he likes smoking a little more than he'd like to admit. No better time to break the bad habit.

"So you're gonna drive me home again tonight?"

"Yes."

Soonyoung's glance is brief, but judgmental, or so Junhui thinks. He doesn't say much, rushing through his cig. Very teenage, Junhui confirms, getting sleepy from all the smoke.

"You have issues," Soonyoung laughs as he stubs out the cigarette filter. "I held a knife to your neck, and you're still adamant on taking me home."

"Well, I did prove to you that I wasn't trying anything funny," says Junhui, "I took you straight home. We just happen to live in one of the two apartment buildings in this town. It's a fifty-fifty chance."

"Spread those stats to the other residential areas and it's not fifty-fifty anymore." Soonyoung doesn't leave the filter to die on the ground, instead ripping it apart layer by layer, down to the foamy material underneath that's marred a gross brown from tar.

"You're in, by the way," Junhui almost forgets to mention. "You're an official intern now. Well, from Monday."

"A literal gentleman," Soonyoung guffaws into his palms. "Fucked in the head and possibly a serial killer, but a gentleman. Holy shit."

"You're the one with a knife," Junhui retorts. The fact that Soonyoung might be the one who's been killing him in every dream looms over his head, and sure, Soonyoung dies first in the dreams, but it could be a feint, and Junhui's never been awake (alive, or well, asleep) long enough to know the truth.

"I'm the potential victim here, because you approached me first," Soonyoung snaps. "How about this. Until I step into the lab on Monday, the knife stays. It's a precaution. This can all be a scam, for all I know."

"It's Wednesday," Junhui remarks.

"So yeah, three more drives with a knife to your throat," Soonyoung cheers, getting up to dust off his pants. "I don't work Sundays."

He leaves Junhui like that, pack-less and fingers itching for a cig, traipsing back into the diner. When Junhui goes to order his coffee and sandwich, he doesn't bother with Soonyoung's portion.

***

It's in the early hours of Saturday when Junhui realizes that the danger of Soonyoung dying is present even when he's not at work, because he's young and vulnerable, and most likely will go to the local bar six blocks down the Lilac Building given the chance because that's what Junhui would do. The news doesn't help either, announcing that citizens should remain cautious even in daylight because a middle-aged woman just got identified as the killer's new victim yesterday, her time of death being four o'clock in the afternoon. So that's the sixth murder. Junhui can't help but feel antsy.

He's broken down his dream and the following theories to Soonyoung the previous night, so that's another tick off his absurd to-do list. Soonyoung took it well enough, or as well as snorting coffee up his nose and spewing it all over himself and Junhui's dashboard can be. That said, he was skeptical. "I'm inclined to believe everything you say about this dream, and fucking Qian—yes, I've gone to her too—by Monday," he cried, knife dangling precariously in his hold.

So this time, Junhui waits until Soonyoung has at least put his cup down before speaking up, "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

Soonyoung throws the question back at him, nonplussed. "Why are you asking?" The knife tilts up slightly.

"Nothing," Junhui says, "just wondering. Y'know. The latest murder happened in daylight, and I need you to be alive by Monday so the head prof won't get on my ass."

Soonyoung gives an exaggerated groan, face in his palm and his other hand falters, wrist pressing hard into Junhui's neck and he swerves way out of the lane, tires screeching noisily as he almost crashes into the curb. Soonyoung shrieks just as loud, if not more, and Junhui echoes it back to him. His head is without its skull and hollowed out, heart beating the living daylights out of his lungs. Junhui learns through the rearview mirror that it's just Soonyoung's wrist, thank god, and blood isn't gushing out of his jugular. Whatever chances he could've had for using his self-proclaimed charisma on Soonyoung is shot now, out the window as the horror pulls the ends of his mouth far down along with the rest of his face. It's not a pretty sight. 

"That was _literally_ what your dream entails," Soonyoung speaks first, still shaky, but accusing all the same. "I could've killed you, and then kill myself from the guilt. We could've crashed. Just like your fucking psychic dream."

"Please don't say that," Junhui begs, breathless and he carefully steers the car back to its lane. Being in such a small town means monopoly of the roads, and for that, Junhui is glad, because his fingers are still trembling and it carries through to his steering.

"But it's a warning bell, some siren going off in me," Soonyoung tattles on. He finally drops his arm, knife gone along with it and Junhui's neck instantly feels warmer. "Look, Junhui, I'm the one at risk here." Soonyoung points to himself, stabbing his own chest in the process and it looks like it hurts, even if it's by a finger, because a dent is starting to form on his tee. "I'm the one who's coerced into a stranger's car every night, so what makes you think I would want you around me on my only day off?"

"As you can tell, I'm persistent. This is a very small town we live in—I think I can find you anyway. I'm being polite by asking."

"Jesus," Soonyoung laughs, but it's sardonic and making Junhui restless. "Can I call the cops on you?"

"Preferably not," Junhui says abruptly. "Please. At least until Monday. You said that they’re useless anyway."

"If I have friends with me on Sunday? Like, two of them? That's three guys versus one dude with a knife, it works."

Junhui opens his mouth only to promptly close it again. He contemplates this for a while, and wonders where he got the idea of Soonyoung being absolutely friendless from. "I need evidence," he supplies weakly.

They're at the building's lobby; Soonyoung doesn't bother waiting for Junhui to park his car before exiting the Toyota, slamming the door with such force that Junhui lurches towards it in fear that it's broken. The local deities grace him for once, his door intact but Soonyoung is stomping off to the elevator before Junhui can even shift his gear to reverse.

***

The Lilac Building and Marina Residences are the only two apartment complexes in town, and Junhui chose the former not only because of its price point, but the fact that said price point came along with thin walls and creaky doors.

Junhui blames his penchant for prying into his neighbors' business on his mother. A good majority of his Saturday evenings as a child involved eavesdropping on the couple next door as they argued on who impregnated who, for the umpteenth time, with his mother over a bowl of chips and wine which she occasionally let him sip. 

So there's no need for him to purchase a TV set or radio, because Junhui gets his fill of white noise and evening entertainment from the old man living in the unit to his left (he has a dialect, which makes his daily bouts of yelling funny, but hard to grasp. Junhui thinks it's something to do about the man's son being an artist and not doing law like he wanted him to, but he could be mistaken). On Tuesday evenings, the lady living above him has karaoke sessions unfailingly. Junhui wonders how she manages to escape eviction from all the noise. He personally doesn't mind because she sounds decent, and he gets at least a new artist to listen to every week or two. It's all good.

To bring back relevance into all this, take Kwon Soonyoung. Junhui knows more about the old man's fast depleting retirement funds and the karaoke lady's top three favorite artists than Soonyoung even if he's never heard of their names, never spoke to them. Soonyoung's files are useless, and Junhui wonders if he's going crazy for wishing that Soonyoung would up and move to the vacant unit to his right over his morning cup of coffee. He drinks it, scalding gulps at a time, and burns the thoughts away. Qian has been emailing him about a second visit, and Junhui does his best to ignore that too.

Soonyoung, he discovers by pure coincidence in a non-stalker-like fashion the following Sunday morning, lives all the way in the apartment block across Junhui; not opposites on the same floor sort of across, but all the way across the complex's main court that's situated right in the middle of the building. He lives across and one level below Junhui, close enough that when Junhui peeks from between his blinds, he can make out Soonyoung's features still, but he's far enough that slight squinting is required. Junhui had spent a good part of Sunday morning languorously staring out of his living room window, the big one that faces the main courtyard and the units of the opposite block. He does this when the old man is still fast asleep, and the karaoke lady has gone for church.

After dropping Soonyoung off (read, after Soonyoung stomped away) last night, Junhui had mentally slapped himself for even suggesting that he follows Soonyoung along on his day off, which is also Junhui's day off except not really, he has to check in with Professor Park in the afternoon for a couple of hours. The point here is that Junhui believes Soonyoung can defend himself well enough for one day, if his dedication to holding a knife against Junhui for the past—Junhui bends his fingers one by one, counting—five drives home is any indication. He makes breakfast with peace in mind as he entertains this train of logic.

It's more or less ten-thirty when he spots Soonyoung closing the door to his apartment, wearing a huge shirt that is definitely too thin from how it billows in the wind, but it's an upgrade from the regular t-shirts because this one has long sleeves. This year's October is much too cold, Junhui surmises, feeling shivers run down his spine even with hot coffee and a thick sweater. Soonyoung thinks otherwise, shirt still too thin, jeans distressed and ripped with nothing underneath. Twiggy legs, Junhui thinks, hypocritically.

He keeps on watching, and Junhui admits that it does seem creepy, but he honestly has no motives whatsoever other than curiosity and a need of neighbor gossip to complete his Sunday morning. Soonyoung locks his door, and takes five lazy strides to his neighbor's unit, parking himself by their door, feet tapping along to some rhythm Junhui can't make sense of.

It's another three minutes or so until the door finally opens, and two men come out to greet Soonyoung. Only one of them goes through the extra mile to give Soonyoung a solid hug, stick-thin and horridly pale from what Junhui can see. The other is distant, noticeable long hair blowing in the wind. So Soonyoung actually is going out with his friends. Junhui counts this as neighbor gossip even though it's really not, and they're good news, so he finishes the rest of his coffee feeling light in his shoulders. The serial killer would most likely be more successful in killing Junhui in his home compared to Soonyoung, because he knows that the old man next door needs some help in crunching those numbers, sure, but Junhui could yell his lungs out, and it's not like the old man would care enough to at least wonder why. In short, he should stop worrying about Soonyoung's safety and prioritize his own.

But Junhui has a car, and as he drives down to the lab, he ponders the killer's intelligence. The thought dies out with every report he proofreads and every snarky comment Park makes when the kids in Masterchef Junior start crying. He's down to the second last report for the day when someone walks into the lab, and it's Soonyoung. Needless to say, Junhui is gawking.

"Stop looking so dumb," Park chides, "I called him over to discuss the internship face-to-face. Get on with the reports."

"You bothered checking his profile for a number?" Junhui says, raising his voice. Park ushers Soonyoung into his personal office, slamming the door closed after he gives Junhui one last glare instead of answering.

There's a lot of soft mumbling he can't hear too well through the thick walls of the main lab. Junhui is on the third page of his last report when Soonyoung creeps up behind him, tickling the back of his ear with a short breath before whispering, "Boo."

"Halloween isn't for another two weeks," Junhui comments, eyes never leaving the sheaf of paper in his hands.

Soonyoung makes a round, leaning on the edge of Junhui's desk as he glances about the place. He seems amused, Junhui notes. "How much work do you have left?"

"This is my last report," Junhui says, "why?"

"Nothing." Soonyoung juts his bottom lip out, shakes his head twice. "Wonwoo thinks you're a creep but Jeonghan thinks you're hilarious, and I think they want to judge you over dinner."

Junhui furrows his brows and looks away from the report for once. "You're inviting me for dinner?" he asks, incredulous. Soonyoung merely nods, humming his assent before leaving the lab.

"Drive down to the sushi bar by Velvet later," Soonyoung tells him with a wave. The door closes in his face before Junhui gets the chance to wave back.

***

It's not a bar per se, like he predicted on Saturday, but it's a sushi bar, and Junhui orders a sake for himself while Soonyoung's two companions stare at him from the other side of the booth. Junhui distinguishes them easily, gets their names right even without asking because the pale, short-haired one from this morning is probably wishing for Junhui's imminent death right this moment judging by the suffocating discomfort that comes along with his glower. That, Junhui's mind supplies, means the pale man is Wonwoo, and the half-lidded fellow with long hair must be Jeonghan.

"He does not look like a serial killer to me," Jeonghan verdicts, voice nasal, and it might or might not have caused Soonyoung to sulk. Not outwardly so, but enough of a pull at the corner of his lip that Junhui notices to be different from his usual pout. "Look at the guy. He's harmless."

"How many drives has it been already?" Wonwoo pointedly asks Junhui, eyes a frightening pair of thin slits as he bores holes into Junhui's head. The sake arrives, steam rising from the bottle and it's hot to the touch. Junhui is grateful for the waitress's placing it right between him and Wonwoo, for the plumes obscure the other's face just enough. "How many more drives until you kill him?"

"It has been five drives," Junhui answers promptly, "and I have no intentions of killing my new intern."

"That part is legit," Soonyoung pipes up, "I went down to Nebula just now, yeah? If you ever find my dead body, sue the entire company." He points at Junhui with unwarranted zeal. "It's all his fault."

Wonwoo doesn't seem convinced. Junhui's gaze trails off to the colorful plates of raw fish going past him in a poor attempt to avoid Wonwoo's scowl that doesn't know when to leave his poor face; it just keeps intensifying by the second. "He's a stranger nonetheless," Wonwoo reasons, "a stranger who forced you to get into his car."

"I coaxed him," Junhui defends himself. "I didn't force anyone into any car. In fact, Soonyoung was the one who knocked at my car door to get in."

Soonyoung finally has to bear with a fraction of Wonwoo's wrath, dark eyes shifting to where he sits next to Junhui. He finally understands why the man never dresses warmly enough for the weather; Soonyoung is a human furnace and Junhui wants to strip just sitting next to him. He swears it's not because of the bar's lights.

Wonwoo looks at Soonyoung beseechingly. It's all very abrupt when he pulls Soonyoung out of his seat by the wrist, drags him outside the bar to talk in private. Junhui can still somewhat see them outside the glass doors, and so can Jeonghan.

"How close are they?" Junhui wonders out loud to Jeonghan's amusement. Wonwoo seems to be fifty shades of disdain, pacing about the bar's parking lot and his stick-like arms flail before Soonyoung's face, which Junhui can't see from where he's seated. Jeonghan has his hands clasped under his chin as he leans in closer to talk to Junhui.

"Joined-at-the-hip close," Jeonghan says. He makes a face at the lackluster answer for a couple of seconds before adding, "Actually, no, would-get-married close."

"Makes sense," Junhui states, sipping at his sake which has finally cooled down some. It's ridiculously sweet, and he fears that he may have made the mistake of ordering sweet sake instead, which has no alcohol content and therefore will not do anything for his frazzled mind. Scrutiny under Wonwoo's strongly pejorative eyes in general can't be a fun experience for anyone. "Are they together?"

"Nah," Jeonghan tells him, leaning most of his weight on his right hand. He indolently picks off a pod of edamame from its stalk, pops the peas one by one into his mouth. "Wonwoo is with me," he says, chewing with his mouth open. Junhui makes a valiant effort to not look at the green behind Jeonghan's teeth. There is, however, a sense of satisfaction in knowing that the rude twat has a sloppy boyfriend. Truly a match made in heaven.

Soonyoung and Wonwoo walk back into the bar together, with Soonyoung's face schooled into its default blank pout while Wonwoo sports a terribly comical frown, deep grooves etched into his features.

"Aww," Jeonghan coos, "did someone piss in your cereal?"

"Soonyoung told me that the right to judge the guy is reserved by him alone," Wonwoo grumbles, one arm curled loosely around Jeonghan's waist. Junhui's gaze flits over to Soonyoung for a second. It's only a curious quirk of his brow, but Soonyoung avoids it, picking at his edamame messily, getting green flecks all over his fingers.

"So only you can shit-talk me?" Junhui whispers, voice low and teasing. Now this is familiar territory, the catty smiles and lilting questions even though it makes him feel a little superficial. He watches Soonyoung's cheeks flush pink, obvious in the bar's yellow lighting, and his face is nothing short of mortified. Junhui decides to be merciful, looking for something to distract Soonyoung with. He settles for pointing underneath the table at Soonyoung's shoelace, the right one having come untied.

"Thanks," Soonyoung huffs, inaudible. He stoops low, top of his head pushing against the edge of the table as he ties his shoelace back up. "And yes, only I can shit-talk you. Makes sense anyway."

Junhui grins at that. "Tomorrow is finally Monday," he says, a little too wistfully. "Are you still gonna work at the diner?"

"The internship isn't a paid one, so yeah. Will probably just work the later shifts."

Wonwoo and Jeonghan don't seem to take notice of the conversation taking place before them, noses deep in the fortunately large menu. "The offer still stands, y'know. I can drive you home every night for a cup of free coffee."

Junhui lays his hand on Soonyoung's shoulder without realizing it, and Soonyoung stiffens immediately, head knocking painfully loud against the table to the point where the waitress stops to check on him. The sake bottle spins precariously, clear liquid spilling onto the edge of Junhui's phone and Wonwoo's hand swiftly darts out to balance it back upright.

"Sorry," Soonyoung stammers out, shakily settling back into the seat. He has his mouth in a tight line, arms pressed against his sides and fingers tucked under his thighs. Highly childlike, Junhui finds. He wants to apologize as well, because he didn't mean to shock Soonyoung so badly, but Soonyoung has his eyes trained somewhere else.

"You okay?" Wonwoo asks, wiping down the table where sake had spilled over earlier. It's all pretty casual, Junhui thinks, Soonyoung's heavy stare is unnecessary but it's there, and it dissipates quickly along with the tension winding up his shoulders as Wonwoo looks up to blink long lashes at him. 

"I'm okay," Soonyoung laughs choppily.

Junhui's sake, it turns out, as per the waitress's explanation, is indeed sweet sake with two percent alcohol content.

 

 

**how addicted are you to neurochemical con jobs?**

"So," Junhui greets Soonyoung as they emerge out of the elevator in unison. Junhui is dumbly reminded that each block has its own elevator and so his expectation of being cramped with Soonyoung in sixteen feet square's worth of space every morning is shot.

"So," Soonyoung echoes the sentiment back to him, significantly less enthusiastic regarding work at Nebula Incorporated. It's a shame, Junhui thinks, because it's only his first day and that attitude will not get him through lab with Park as head professor.

"The killer also works in daylight, y'know," Junhui quips, feeling miles cheerier than he's ever felt on a Monday morning. He chalks it up to the fact that there's someone more miserable than him to pick on, and that he's hit twenty-two on his dream tally. "And hey! It's finally Monday. You can stop with the knife antic."

"You told me before so yes, I know, shut up." Soonyoung drags a hand down his haggard face which looks five years older than last night.

"Would you like a lift?" Junhui offers. Soonyoung nods wordlessly, and allows himself to be ushered into Junhui's car without much retaliation. It's a little surreal to Junhui, who's gotten used to Soonyoung's scathing banter at the very least. "So no knife at all?" he asks, fastening his seatbelt.

Soonyoung mimics the action, albeit drowsily, and shakes his head, exhaling loudly through his nose.

To say that Soonyoung is an energetic person is a bit of a stretch, but Junhui has never seen him look so worn down, and it tugs at something in him. Perhaps it's Nebula and Park destroying the supposed humanity in him, and these forced interactions in and out of the realm of sleep is bringing those lost bits back in pieces, to be projected onto Soonyoung. That is an intimidating train of thought Junhui knows he should stop pursuing.

Of course, he doesn't. "Everything okay from last night?" he dares to ask, right before Soonyoung's hand manages to find the switch for the radio. It's all pre-meditated; if Soonyoung were to switch it on right now, it would seem like he's avoiding Junhui's question, and that would look bad on him, so he'll have to answer.

"Peachy," Soonyoung tells him, derisive and it gets to Junhui's nerves just slightly.

"I mean, you looked a little..." he trails off, making wild gestures with one hand in Soonyoung's direction. "Off? With that Wonwoo guy. Jeonghan tells me you're close."

"We are," Soonyoung snaps, "and it's none of your business, so if you would kindly shut up and let me psych myself up for eight hours of lab with you."

"Ten hours," Junhui corrects.

Soonyoung groans in response; deep and guttural and full of agony. Junhui, as an act of mercy, stops with the questions and switches the radio on for him.

" _—seven-fifteen PSA regarding the serial killer. Last week's suspect has been released due to lack of evidence. Town security will—_ "

***

Something about the two of them and smoking behind buildings, Junhui thinks. Except he can't smoke anymore, pocket empty because of his stupid promise and he forgot to buy more gum. Soonyoung notices the twitch of Junhui's fingers and blows the fumes right into his face.

Junhui flips him off, and Soonyoung wiggles his filter (damp and absolutely gross) against Junhui’s finger suggestively. He's still huffing impatiently and rushing through every cigarette, even though the back of Nebula's building isn't as shoddy as the one behind the diner and Soonyoung looks like he's drowning in his lab coat that's a size too big for him. A teenager.

"Guess some things just don't change," he muses aloud, grabbing Soonyoung's attention.

"What doesn't change?"

Junhui shakes his head. "Nothing," he says, "just that you're a brat."

"You're not that much older than me," Soonyoung complains.

"My salary says otherwise."

"Now, that's just mean."

Soonyoung reaches into his pack for another cig but pulls out two, offering one of them to Junhui who just arches a brow in confusion.

"Stop acting like it was some written contract," Soonyoung chastises him. Junhui takes the menthol from his hands and scoffs at how he can smell the mint already. "It's a stupid dare you set up for yourself. Cut it out. You could've just asked."

"Yeah, but I didn't wanna seem desperate when you've got—" he turns the cigarette over in his hands "—fucking menthols."

"Fuck you," Soonyoung laughs. He lights Junhui's cig up for him, taking forever because that's what Bic lighters do. Junhui regrets not bringing at least his zippo out. "What would you do," Soonyoung asks after another loud smack of his lips off the filter, "if I were to be killed anyway, despite all the trouble you've gone through?"

"I dunno," Junhui says with a shrug. "Probably be a paranoid freak about it. Avoid the media."

"You could end up as the prime suspect, y'know. The police will be after your ass, what with Wonwoo and Jeonghan knowing your weird stalking shit." Soonyoung's tone is nowhere near mocking, and it bothers Junhui, how sincere he's sounding for the first time ever. Junhui flicks ash onto Soonyoung's shoes to show his displeasure, but he simply shakes it off, unperturbed by the grey dust still left on his laces. "Police aside, wouldn't you feel guilty?" he adds. "If I were to die despite being in your... care, for lack of a better word—wouldn't you feel distraught?"

"Shit, I would," Junhui answers. He's never thought of the _what if_ realistically, too hung up on his dream that the scenario only plays out in a way that if one of them were to die, the other follows. "Shit."

"Oh c'mon, you're not stupid, you've thought of that before."

"I honestly haven't. Ever."

Soonyoung watches Junhui with wide eyes, smoke wafting from the corners of his mouth in slow curls. "You could've not bothered at all, but well."

"If I didn't bother, the dream would’ve kept on bothering me," Junhui reasons, voice small. He's still jarred from the reality check.

"Have they stopped?"

"No."

Soonyoung sucks at his cig one last time before stubbing it out against the wall. "It's not too late to dissociate yourself from me," he tells Junhui, wholeheartedly serious. The frigid air between them dries Junhui's throat, his insides feeling like the Sahara even though he hasn't even finished one cigarette.

"I don't plan to," he blurts with a light chuckle, just shy of awkward.

"This is a small town," Soonyoung starts, pulling at one of the lower pockets of Junhui's lab coat to grab his attention. "Jun, everyone knows everyone, everyone has seen everyone at least once. Your rash decisions regarding me are all based off flimsy dreams."

"But it's okay if nothing happens to you, right?" Junhui hesitates at first, but rests his hand on Soonyoung's arm anyway. He does it gently this time, consciously letting his fingers fall one-by-one on starchy white fabric starting from his pinky. Either Soonyoung doesn't notice, or is actively ignoring Junhui. "If nothing happens to you, nothing happens to me either. This is how I've thought it through, and I'm sticking it out. Besides, you make great company."

Soonyoung's eye flits toward Junhui's hand on his arm; it tenses beneath the coat. "You don't have some stalker-ish crush on me, do you?"

Fully offended, Junhui removes his hand from Soonyoung and flicks more ashes onto his shoes. "No," he spits.

"It'd make a lot more sense, yeah? The whole nonsensical car thing, you asking me about Wonwoo, heck—your entire dream could've been fake, right?"

There's a frantic quality to Soonyoung's outburst, but Junhui can't dig any further into it between his own bubbling anger and Soonyoung looking like he wants to cry.

"I'm going back in," Junhui mutters, stomping out what's left of his cig. "We can forget this conversation's ever happened, how's that?"

Soonyoung doesn't look at Junhui when he answers, fingers rubbing at his temples. "That would be great, thanks."

***

Four days of working with Kwon Soonyoung has enlightened Junhui to three facts, the first being the fact that he's not as useless as his resume makes him out to be. When Junhui confronted him asking why, Soonyoung merely shrugged. "I figured it would be cool to blow your minds or something. But thanks for taking my shitty CV into consideration," he had said, two Petri dishes of the most beautiful Caulobacter cultures in his hands and Junhui was awed.

The second fact is that Soonyoung indeed can't survive being in the same working environment as Professor Park for longer than two or three hours at a time. Park is a slave-driver, Soonyoung is a brat trapped in an adult's body, and Junhui always has too many cultures to keep track of, too many reports due, to play mediator for every single time Soonyoung cheers for the kid Park hates in Masterchef Junior.

The third fact, and this is a fun fact, is that Soonyoung has those wallets with a coin pouch stitched on one side, and Junhui so happened to be right behind him the one time he opened aforementioned coin pouch to get himself a drink from the vending machine. Junhui also so happens to have perfect eyesight, and he spotted the small ID photo of none other than Wonwoo clipped between three or four coins.

"Fuck you," Soonyoung griped when he heard Junhui's snickering, and within their next smoke break, he proceeded to burn the photo in Junhui's face.

Which leads to the fourth fact, which Junhui strongly thinks is a fact, which is that Soonyoung is harboring feelings for Wonwoo. Though it may sound dubious, Junhui has little to no qualms regarding this being factual ever since Wonwoo's visit down to Nebula the other day. It was informal and highly abrupt, a knock on the door requesting for one Kwon Soonyoung as he greeted Junhui with a thin smile and ugly round-rimmed glasses.

Professor Park's lab is located on the third floor, a balcony kindly bestowed upon them because Park was particular about sunlight. So Junhui was able to see them clear as day, peeking at the two from between the iron railings.

It was a short conversation; Junhui caught bits of Wonwoo still being cautious about him, of Wonwoo chastising how Soonyoung reeks of cigarettes constantly, of Wonwoo asking (Junhui says that he's asking because to say that Wonwoo begged is a horrid hyperbole) Soonyoung to consider quitting sometime soon. Above all, he heard Soonyoung actually telling—no, _promising_ Wonwoo that he not only would, but _will_ quit, one day, sometime soon. Junhui isn't one to exaggerate, but the simple promise of one day, sometime soon sounded much more than just a declaration to quit smoking.

Wonwoo flashed Soonyoung a smile after that, all teeth with his nose scrunched up and it was honestly adorable even for Junhui's taste. He saw the appeal of the ugly round-rimmed glasses, and didn't find it odd that Soonyoung is head over heels whipped for the man. A pat on Soonyoung's shoulder which evolved into one of those quick one-armed hugs; with that, Wonwoo left Soonyoung to jog back to the parking lot, where Jeonghan had apparently been waiting with his motorbike. Junhui was impressed—the last time he saw someone stick to the biker aesthetics so loyally was way back when he hadn't even hit puberty yet.

So off Wonwoo went with Jeonghan, on his dashing Kawasaki, while Soonyoung started a slow trudge up the stairs. Junhui slinked back to his desk, scribbling nonsense on the margin of one of his reports to seem nonchalant, and was awarded with the sight of Soonyoung walking into the lab red-faced, lips terribly torn between grinning and frowning.

"What're you looking at?" he challenged, having caught Junhui staring.

"Nothing," Junhui says with a shrug. "Your face is red, that's all. You okay?"

Soonyoung flipped him off and proceeded to make the first of what will be many more blunders to come in his one-year internship program in Nebula Incorporated. The fume cupboard has been reeking of rotten eggs since yesterday afternoon, and Park hasn't stopped screaming about it. Soonyoung has gone for extra smoke breaks in retaliation, disregarding the half-promise he made to Wonwoo the other day, and Junhui trails after him.

"Do you like Wonwoo?" he asks lightly, a hum to end off the question as he lights up a familiar Winston red. God forbid he smoke another menthol.

Soonyoung doesn't react much, against Junhui's expectations. He gives Junhui a disinterested look and murmurs around the filter of his cig, white and its minty scent piercing, "Yes."

***

"Junnie," Professor Park calls, "have you by any chance seen the new intern's files?"

Junhui swivels his chair around to face Park and stops chewing at the cap of his pen. "No, sir," he says, "I handed them over to you two weeks ago."

"Well, they're gone now, so if you'd hurry and make me a copy because that would be great."

Junhui sighs; softly and deliberately slow, because there's no need for another fifteen-minute scolding when the printer is all the way at the other end of the level. It's half-past six in the evening, just another half hour before he and Soonyoung can hightail it out of the lab to the diner. They've been quietly passing yesterday's newspaper between each other in a lax effort to finish the crossword puzzle at the very last page. Junhui begrudgingly gets out of his seat and watches Soonyoung pout out of the corner of his eye. He's grown to accept this as an endearing act.

It's quiet in the hallways of Nebula, mainly because they limit most noise to the lobby down in the first floor. The second floors and up are made of pristinely thick walls, faint whirrs of the only high-end technology in town the only indication of any activity because you will never find more than two people wandering about the hallway at any given time.

Junhui's Converses make little to no noise as he briskly walks to the printing station. Log in, print, collate the paper, staple them in place. Right when he opens the lab door, Soonyoung storms out, flustered with his phone pressed against his ear and Park is yelling for him to come back. Junhui shoves the papers into Park's outreached hands and chases after Soonyoung all the way to the parking lot, the two of them still in their lab coats and drenched in the sharp scent of rubbing alcohol.

Soonyoung ends the call and looks around the space listlessly, turning around to clutch at Junhui's arms. It's more to anchor himself, Junhui feels, so he lets Soonyoung rumple the fabric.

"Jeonghan is in the hospital," Soonyoung words out, deliberate and level. "It's—Wonwoo said it was just a small cut on his side but—"

"Are we skipping the diner tonight?" Junhui interjects. Soonyoung nods mutely.

They don't say much after that. Junhui helps clock Soonyoung out, both of their bags on his back before he bids a miffed Professor Park goodbye as he fetches his car keys. It's the most silent car ride they've had to date, Junhui steering with one hand pressed against his cheek while Soonyoung remains in his little stupor, eyes emptily gazing out of the window. 

The thought makes him queasy, but Junhui has never felt the need to hold someone as strongly as he does now, two miles away from the hospital and Soonyoung looking like the world is getting robbed away from his very hands.

*** 

"Seriously, you don't have to look so spooked."

"It isn't obligatory," Soonyoung murmurs, "but I have the right to."

Jeonghan is in bed, looking far too comfortable for a wanted serial killer's victim and potential murder case, but his face is ashen and Junhui can see that he's acutely aware of the wound on his side. Soonyoung notices too, flinching whenever Jeonghan so much as winces.

Wonwoo teeters on the edge of the bed, offering Jeonghan his bony shoulder to rest on. Between the obvious couple and Soonyoung, Junhui feels like an outsider, invasive and unwelcome.

Junhui taps on Soonyoung's shoulder. "I'm just gonna go outside," he whispers while prompting Soonyoung to give him their lab coats, which he quickly folds into one bulky square. "I'll wait for whoever is going back to Lilac tonight."

Soonyoung nods, whispers back a small _thanks_ , and Junhui exits the ward in hurried steps. It gets colder and drier by the day as they approach the end of October, and Junhui unlocks his car, chucks the lab coats into the backseat. The time on his radio shows to be seven-thirty. He sighs in relief; the mandatory announcement should be over, and Junhui can drown his weary head in shrill pop music without the word _killer_ being uttered every three seconds or so.

When he and Soonyoung arrived earlier, there were several reporters on standby in the lobby, and the police were just wrapping up Jeonghan's case, their questioning session cut short on Wonwoo's insistence. It has been a hectic start to the evening, and Junhui did not expect getting a stranger into his car to lead to— _this._ The killer is drawing closer, as is winter, and Junhui's heating is still very much broken.  

The beauty of having his own car, busted heating and all, is that Junhui can smoke in it, windows rolled all the way up, and not care at all. He's bound to run out of fresh oxygen soon, but that's a concern for later. He'll roll the windows down after one cigarette. It's only half-past seven, the night will get colder, and he needs all the warmth he can get while toiling away at more reports because Soonyoung's raw data just came in this morning, and there's much to go through before the night is over.

By his eighth or ninth cigarette and third set of data, the windows are rolled down, and Soonyoung doesn't bother knocking when he bends down slightly to greet Junhui. Any sense of deja vu that could've been evoked within the moment is gone.

"Wonwoo is staying with Jeonghan," Soonyoung says before making one big loop around the car to get to the passenger seat. He gets into the car uninvited, rolls down the window on his side, and pats down his pockets only to find that he's out of cigarettes.

Junhui leans over to the other side of the car, opens the glovebox where he keeps his spare packs and rips one of them open for Soonyoung, who is making the same expression as he did earlier in the evening, as he did a few days ago in his outburst; all downcast eyes and tight lips added to hunched shoulders as he tucks his fingers underneath his thighs. No hands come up to take the pack away from Junhui, and he has to suffer through the sharp menthol stinging his eyes.

"You okay?" Junhui asks after what seems to be the fifth replay of the same Ariana Grande song on the radio. Time gets drawn out as the melody seems to lose its initial tempo, even though it is definitely the same song as before.

Soonyoung sucks in a lungful of air and exhales it just as loud, fingers coming up red and marked up from between his jeans and the leather seat. "Hypothetically," he starts, clumsily pulling out his first cigarette only to turn it over, filter-side down, and push it back into the pack. _Teenager._ "If the person you've been liking for like... four, five years—if they were to get together with someone, really happily too, and that person isn't you—how would you feel?"

Repulsive EDM is what's playing between them, and Junhui doesn't know what bothers him more—how upbeat the song is, or how painstakingly slow Soonyoung is being in the simple act of lighting up a cigarette with Junhui's zippo. "I guess that would be pretty shitty," is his daft answer, to which Soonyoung cracks a paper-thin smile at.

"Okay. Then hypothetically, if you've been neighbors with the person you like and their boyfriend for the past two years. It's been a few months since the serial killer showed up, yeah? Said boyfriend is using the serial killer as an excuse to move out of this town."

"Wait," Junhui cuts Soonyoung off, "Jeonghan and Wonwoo are gonna move out?"

"Way to spoil my dramatic hypothetical speech."

"I already knew it was you from the very start."

Soonyoung takes a quick drag of his cig only to blow smoke in Junhui's face. He returns the favor, feeling victorious because his Winstons yield thicker fumes.

"Anyway, yes. Jeonghan's always been a bit more distant anyway, because he moved into town to get with Wonwoo, not vice versa." Soonyoung tries to suck at the cig one last time, but it's grown too short, and he grimaces at how close the fire is to his fingertips. "He's been trying to get Wonwoo to move to the main city with him. The serial killer was a huge part of his reasoning. Now that he's a victim, Wonwoo's paranoid and they've been arranging shit since the police left."

"And I thought Jeonghan was a chill guy," Junhui comments offhandedly. Soonyoung scoffs at the remark and lights up another cig. "What held Wonwoo back anyway? Is it his job or some sentimental connection to this town? Because there's not much here, to be honest."

"Why are you literally the nosiest thing on earth?" Soonyoung jibes, fiery red in between Junhui's eyes as Soonyoung points towards his nose with the lit end of his cigarette. His grin doesn't last long, gone with the first shiver Junhui has ever seen from him. Soonyoung is susceptible to the cold after all. "It was me," Soonyoung sighs, "or at least I'd like to think that it was. I thought I had a chance."

"Is that why you stayed as a neighbor?" Junhui asks, feeling presumptuous. "As a friend?"

The ashes drop onto Soonyoung's knee, sliding down to dirty his shoes and eventually, Junhui's car floor. "Can I just—can I just kiss you? Right now?"

The goddamned song is still playing and funnily enough, Junhui hears the beat drop right after Soonyoung's ludicrous request. "No," he quickly answers, lips curling into a grin for no reason. Junhui tries with all his might to pull them down, school his features back to the default stoicism they should be, but he's failing. "No, you can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you like Wonwoo," Junhui says, words punctuated as if he's talking to a child.

"It'll make me feel miles better," Soonyoung reasons. He chucks out his cigarette before inching closer to Junhui, expertly leaning over the console as if he's done this a million times before. There's no smile to be found anywhere, no mirth, no challenge. The request is desperately plain, and Soonyoung's breaths are shaky against Junhui's lips; he knows Soonyoung is overly-conscious of absolutely everything at the moment, trying to not give away the rapid beating of his heart that Junhui can't hear, and so Soonyoung shouldn't even bother to hide in the first place.

"So you're using me as a crutch?" Junhui asks again, without wonder, without surprise. Like Soonyoung had once told him some time back, he's a gentleman, and handling Soonyoung sometimes feels like dealing with a college sophomore. Junhui is just trying to cover all of his bases at the moment. It doesn't help that he actually does care about—no— _for_ Soonyoung, to an extent.

Frankly, however, Junhui doesn't know who he's trying to protect anymore. His eyes hurt from all the smoke stinking up his car, face warm as he feels Soonyoung's breath against his lips, their noses almost touching.

"Yes," Soonyoung answers, but it's brief and cut off in the end when Junhui tilts his face to the side and presses his lips against Soonyoung's firmly. Junhui hasn't kissed anyone for a long time, but his hands remember to cup Soonyoung's face, thumbs brushing at his sideburns while the rest of his fingers tangle themselves in soft hair. Junhui has his eyelids glued shut, mind going everywhere and nowhere while he struggles to breathe through his nose. It doesn't help that his lungs are on fire from the menthol Soonyoung is blowing into his mouth with every exhale. 

The song finishes what could be its tenth replay, and when the radio switches over to its anchors, Junhui doesn't pull away. The hands clutching at his sweater tell him it's alright not to.

 

 

**your oven is turning cold and you leave me all alone with an empty peephole**

November has always been a strange month to Junhui; it's almost nonexistent, creeping behind everyone's backs along with the chill of winter only to disappear when he turns around. Junhui nearly choked on his coffee when the calendar showed that it's been a week into the month, because he still feels stuck in October.

It's cold enough that his windows are foggy every morning, and Junhui has to waste one tissue paper to wipe them down before proceeding with his daily dose of neighbor-watching. He has his phone perched on the windowsill, scrolling through the news as Wonwoo stacks box after box, cluttering up his hallway in the distance. Soonyoung is nowhere to be found.

The diner had dismissed Soonyoung after Jeonghan's incident, but he shrugged it off after telling his manager that he had applied for the adjacent sushi bar. Ever since, Velvet Diner has been begging Soonyoung to reconsider with promises of extra fringe benefits in the form of free sandwiches and coffee. Autonomy of the jukebox was added into the list, on Soonyoung's insistence, and with that, his life of wearing Velvet's stiff and horrid purple uniform has yet to meet its end.

It sparked a question from Junhui, however, as he drove Soonyoung to the diner from Nebula the other day. "Why don't you move with Wonwoo and Jeonghan? I mean, if you like him that much."

Soonyoung gave him a hard stare before getting out of the car. "Try to be a third wheel for two years and ask me that again," he said, slamming the car door closed with too much force as he always does. His short, five-hour shift had softened him by the end of the night; Soonyoung trudged back into the car, defeated, two cups of steaming hot coffee in his hands and he offered one to Junhui. "If I ever make any indications of moving, please stop me," he had requested quietly as Junhui drove them home.

Junhui had said, "Okay."

Thinking about it over his mug of coffee (which is infinitely better than Velvet's when he consciously tastes it), there has been little to no damage following the kiss. Junhui refuses to properly acknowledge it, because it's fine without and in doing so, they may be better off anyway. Junhui meets Soonyoung every morning in the lobby, as per usual, bearing the full brunt of Soonyoung's general morning grump and faintly bad breath when they get into Junhui's Toyota, progressively deteriorating with every harsh slam of its door, courtesy of none other than his passenger.

Junhui would bother telling Soonyoung off if it doesn't entail an indifferent wave of his hand with a half-coherent mumble of _yes, yes I get it._

To further add to this observatory report of Junhui's first week of November, there's an ongoing, curious case of Professor Park constantly missing Soonyoung's files. Junhui begs to say lose, but Park insists that he's never had them in the first place. There had been threats of pay deductions (for Junhui) and poorly written intern evaluations (for Soonyoung), but Park dropped them after Junhui had printed him exactly five copies of the files and shoved them right underneath the man's nose.

Those five copies were gone by the very next day. Park kindly offered to fake compliments for Soonyoung's evaluation reports.

"You don't work anywhere else besides the diner, yeah?"

Soonyoung doesn't look up from the microscope, so Junhui keeps staring at him, hoping that some telepathic force would get the other to pay attention. "Nope," comes his brief response. Junhui blinks.

"Shit, how do you pay rent for yourself?" Junhui asks idly. He has his face cradled in his palms, lazily shifting his weight forward onto his elbows. Not much thought is put into most of their conversations. In the end, they're just noise fillers for the silence when Park is holed up in his office. "Do your parents send you money still or?"

"Uh, Wonwoo and Jeonghan... they help with like, a third of my rent," Soonyoung admits, a little bashful, like it's a really embarrassing thing to confess and Junhui will mock him for it. "They wanted me in their unit but y'know. I'd rather not."

Junhui wishes to use this opportunity to reiterate that he is indeed a gentleman, despite the intrusive questions and constant badgering for Soonyoung to not be alone. Besides, the reasons for these are at the base, very pure. Junhui just doesn't want Soonyoung dead, because that would lead to his death as per his dreams (the dream tally has reached forty. Junhui is ready to splurge on drinks should it reach fifty by mid-November).

"What will happen once they move out?" he asks, sounding a tad harsher than intended. He can see Soonyoung's back stiffen, hunched over as his eyes stay glued to the lens.

"Leave me alone," Soonyoung snaps, frustration creeping in by the way he's been adjusting the microscope horribly, zooming in too close, too far, and then too close again. "I dunno, okay? I have no clue."

Junhui opens his mouth, about to say something that he catches at the last minute and pushes back down his throat where it came from. It's better left unsaid, he thinks, because it's getting too close to acknowledging the events of last week, give or take a few days, and to acknowledge that would mean a possible shift in their status quo.

Why his brain is suddenly supplying him with images of cardboard boxes stacked before Wonwoo's apartment is beyond Junhui's reasoning capabilities. Sure, Wonwoo and Jeonghan are moving away pretty soon. Sure, Junhui can get bored by the same dream repeating itself over and over again, the shock of cold silver meeting his beating heart dulled with every replay of Soonyoung's death whenever he so much as lies down on his sheets. And sure, the killer is either going to chase after Jeonghan all the way to the city, or find fresh blood in this stale town. There's no telling if they'll even bother to kill anyone after the first failed attempt. Junhui's concerns are at this point in time, relatively unfounded, and he's not sure what he's looking for anymore within seven p.m. car rides to the diner and back to the Lilac Building come midnight.

"Why don't you move into mine?" Junhui blurts out, pulling out the bottommost piece of a precarious Lego tower he's been building absentmindedly, block stacked upon block with no foreseeable end in sight. Soonyoung finally looks up from the microscope, mouth gaping open in a way that would be laughable, except Junhui is the guilty one in this mess and he's panicking internally from how serious of an offer he had just made.

He searches Soonyoung's face for something, anything. It's another one of his goddamned blank looks, the one with vacant eyes and parted lips which do not help Junhui in the slightest. "I'll think about it," is what slips out of the very same lips which Junhui had kissed ten, maybe nine days ago. There's no evidence for him to refer to.

Junhui watches as Soonyoung bends back down to fiddle with the microscope, seemingly unperturbed. He doesn't have a mirror on hand but the skin of his cheeks on his palms is unbearably hot.

***

D-day arrives on a horrifically windy November morning. Junhui drops by Soonyoung's block to catch a glimpse of Wonwoo and Jeonghan's apartment all clean and bare, wrapped up furniture and cardboard boxes stowed in the back of a truck rented from a friend because the moving company's monopoly of the town's nonexistent market is the most understated crime. Soonyoung seems composed for someone who's sending the love of his life off, features schooled into its usual blank state, lips just a tiny bit poutier. It's not nonchalant enough to fool Junhui, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Wonwoo shoves the last box into the truck before locking it, twiggy arms straining from the effort. The poor guy's out of breath by the time he gets to Jeonghan. Quiet murmurs are followed by three rounds of rock-paper-scissors. Jeonghan climbs into the driver seat while Wonwoo trudges back to where Junhui and Soonyoung are standing way too close to the truck's exhaust pipes. Jeonghan, thankfully, has yet to rev up the engine. Wonwoo approaches them, all sulky and unpleasant just like how Junhui remembers him to be since the sushi bar.

Junhui admits that's hyperbolic. It's just Wonwoo's face in general. Soonyoung seems more engaged with the world than he did a couple of minutes ago.

"Soon-ah," Wonwoo calls him affectionately. "Sure you don't wanna come along with us? Nebula has a branch in the city, I checked." The warm gaze Wonwoo so kindly directed at Soonyoung turns colder than the wind slapping Junhui's face when it's shifted to him. "Internship transfers are possible, right?"

"Not that I know of," Junhui promptly answers. Wonwoo glares on, not moving the slightest bit. Junhui gulps. "But I'll see what I can do."

The exhaust pipes cough up a small sputtering of smoke, and Wonwoo quickly ushers Soonyoung away from the grime, dragging Junhui along as if he's an afterthought (which he probably is). 

"It's fine," Soonyoung tells Wonwoo gently, like he doesn't want to (he probably doesn't). Wonwoo's fingers are still circled around Soonyoung's wrist after he's released Junhui's. "I'm fine here. I'll at least finish the internship in this branch."

There is a pregnant pause where Wonwoo just stares at Soonyoung in an almost imploring fashion. Junhui distantly hears Jeonghan clambering out of the truck. Every loud, heavy step of his boots picks at the silence suffocating the three of them (especially Junhui, who feels like an outsider for the umpteenth time), chipping it away until he's right beside Wonwoo, their hips knocking against each other. They look good together. This is a fact Junhui agrees with. He contemplates a parallel scenario where it's Soonyoung beside Wonwoo, and it works too, except the image is far too utopic to even be considered as something plausible. Jeonghan yawns, stretching his arms up before tackily draping it across Wonwoo's shoulders. That's realistic.

"We should go while the traffic is clear," Jeonghan says, prodding at Wonwoo's cheek. He pulls Soonyoung to his vacant side in a playful chokehold without letting go of Wonwoo (and again, Junhui feels intrusive, invasive, isolated). "Don't forget to call us often, you lil' baby." Soonyoung chuckles when Jeonghan teasingly blows him a kiss.

"I won't," Soonyoung promises. He looks away from Jeonghan, and Junhui anticipates the moment their eyes meet, hoping to get some form of clarification as to whether or not Soonyoung will be holding a knife to his neck for their first week of living together. Their eyes do meet, after a second or two pass between them and Jeonghan's hold on Soonyoung's neck loosens. Junhui has his shoulders squared, backtracking his thoughts with bated breath as he tries to keep his lips in a straight line. It's shamelessly bold of his mind to indulge in such scenarios, when he doesn't even know if Soonyoung is going to cancel his apartment's lease.

Wonwoo slinks away from Jeonghan, ruffling Soonyoung's hair from the back. The smile on his face is borderline pitying, but still kind; lips stretched thin before they give in and show just a sliver of teeth. There is a quality that Junhui can't put his finger on in how the way Wonwoo looks at Soonyoung differs from how he looks at Jeonghan. It's the subtlest of nuances, but maybe it's in how perfectly Wonwoo looks at Soonyoung and how he looks back with beatific grins that force their eyes shut unlike Jeonghan's sleepy smiles.

Soonyoung looking at Wonwoo, however, is tragic. Junhui takes back whatever thought he had of the two of them being idealistically perfect together.

"Take care. Don't forget what I said about moving. Give it some thought," Wonwoo says to Soonyoung before walking away to hop into the truck with Jeonghan in tow. The engine has warmed enough, and Jeonghan easily drives off to the streets, waving back to Soonyoung and Junhui the whole while. "Text us lots!" Wonwoo screams from the distance.

Soonyoung screams back, cheeks flushed and looking more alive than Junhui has ever seen him. "I will!"

The truck is gone in a matter of seconds. Out of sight, out of mind, is how it usually goes. Junhui chances a glance at Soonyoung, who is still a little red in the face. His smile, however, has muted itself to something negligible, a miniscule curl at the corners of his mouth.

Junhui, on the other hand, can finally breathe again; he shakes his legs, loosens his shoulders. "Sure you don't wanna follow?" he asks while cracking his knuckles.

When Soonyoung tilts his head to look at Junhui, he's squinting, hair getting into his eyes from whiplash. "Nah."

 

 

**oh, nothing; just the feeling that you're gonna die**

The shift between their dynamic is palpable after Wonwoo and Jeonghan's leaving. Here is what Junhui has gotten used to; derisive remarks, a particular brand of lethargy, and a constant push-pull whereby Soonyoung either keeps him at an arm's length away or, on good days, shortens that distance to the width of Velvet's takeaway box plus two cups of coffee.

What Junhui isn't used to, however, is Soonyoung being clingy and so on edge. In the four days without his old neighbors, Soonyoung had cancelled his lease and begun depositing his things (which he has little of, or so Soonyoung said) in Junhui's doorway. He didn't ask much beyond _I'm gonna take you up on your offer, alright?_ and Junhui could only nod dumbly to Soonyoung standing in the hallway before him, the first box out of many (only five, actually) in his arms, making him look inexplicably smaller.

"How long until I become a permanent member of staff?" Soonyoung asks him, crunching numbers for his data while Junhui sits opposite him, glossing over the lab's inventory for the month. "You promised me, remember?"

Junhui remembers, and is stunned by the fact that it's been more or less a month since he first approached Soonyoung behind the diner. "Twelve weeks," Junhui answers, albeit a little uncertain. "Why? I mean, I guess you doubt me, but I meant it when I say I can get you in Nebula. We're always kinda understaffed anyway."

"It's not that," Soonyoung trails off. Junhui can feel his knee thumping incessantly against the bottom of the desk. It doesn't bother him per se, but Soonyoung's agitation is making his nervous tics go haywire—knee-thumping, joint-cracking, and nail-biting to name a few—and Junhui doesn't want the intern he's in charge of to be involved in some stupid lab accident (though bursting of Soonyoung's eardrums from Park yelling at him to stop would be a more plausible scenario).

"Then what is it?"

Soonyoung scribbles down a few numbers, shifting his legs and crossing one over the other to stop jiggling his knee against the desk. A hand comes up to fit a fingernail between his teeth however, and Junhui looks away when he starts nibbling its edges. "I just want something solid to hold onto," Soonyoung confesses. The accidental lisp from biting his nails whilst talking makes him sound vulnerable.

Clingy, indeed.

They hang their lab coats together, pack their bags together, get into the car together. Soonyoung would always be the one to turn on the radio, and every time he does, the music scratches out to the deafening beep that precedes the evening seven-fifteen PSA.

" _—High Alert. Citizens are advised to stay indoors past dark—_ "

"This is your... fourth week? Is it your fourth week already?"

"Shit," Soonyoung breathes, unlocking his phone to backtrack his calendar. "I didn't realize. Shit, that's fast."

"Hey, two more rounds of this and you can finally contribute to rent."

Soonyoung scoffs into his palm. "At least I pay for my own utilities."

Soonyoung takes only his phone with him into the diner, backpack left to cool in Junhui's car. Junhui stares at the slight hunch of Soonyoung's shoulders, how they shift under his jumper (which is still too thin, in Junhui's opinion, but it's better than the t-shirt) when he raises one arm up, two fingers held up in a peace sign. Two more rounds before his internship ends. Junhui can see it; Soonyoung packing up what little belongings he has and driving off into the city.

In his small, sleepy town of a sixty-mile radius, everyone knows everyone but friends are nowhere to be found. Junhui can still hear the old man next door yammering grumpily (he now knows that the son is a nude model) and the lady upstairs still sings every Tuesday, but he realizes on one Thursday that when he sips coffee in the mornings while scrolling through the newsfeed on his phone, Soonyoung does the same, and he would occasionally ask Junhui to text him the lady's song list from the previous Tuesday evening.

"What're you looking at?" Soonyoung chuckles as he takes his pack of cigarettes out, lighting one up with clumsy hands, still half-asleep.

Junhui inhales the minty plumes, no longer affected by the sharp sting it causes going into his lungs. "Am I a crutch right now?"

Soonyoung's grin falters, and he quickly covers it with his cigarette, breathing in to expel a cloud of grey that obscures his face. "Why ask?"

"Well, it's just starting to get comfy, y'know?" Junhui gestures between the two of them, lips pursed. "This arrangement of ours. Just wanna keep things cozy."

It's so quiet that Junhui swears he can hear the paper sizzling between Soonyoung's fingers. "I've tried not to," he answers warily, taking another puff of his cig. "The prospect of a permanent spot in Nebula is what I'm trying to hold onto."

Junhui hums in approval, nodding slowly. He resumes scrolling through the news, sipping at his coffee that's turned lukewarm. Soonyoung's eyes are still on him.

"Junhui, spill," Soonyoung demands. "You're acting weird."

There is a massive wad of cotton lodged in his throat; Junhui can't seem to stop gulping, but it hurts each time he does, and he feels lightheaded. His tongue is dry and stuck to the roof of his mouth. With shaky steps, Junhui closes the distance between them. Face aflame, he doesn't close his eyes when he leans in for a fast, chaste kiss; just the barest touch of his lips against Soonyoung's.

"I think I like you," Junhui mumbles, lips hovering over Soonyoung's still. He wants to explode. "I'm so sorry."

Soonyoung reeks of tobacco and coffee from this up close. Junhui takes a couple steps back to truly appreciate the shock on Soonyoung's features, and hopefully mask the mortification on his own. Soonyoung puffs away at his cigarette, the red tip creeping to his fingers swiftly and he stubs it out before speaking. "Do I have to give an answer right away?" he asks, voice level and detached.

Junhui shakes his head. "No."

"Do I have to give you the answer you want?"

"No."

Soonyoung knocks back the rest of his coffee in one go. Junhui notices how the corners of his mouth are stained when he puts the mug down. It's five past eight in the morning and they need to get ready to deal with Park for ten hours, but no one needs to say anything for the time being. Merciful silence, Junhui muses.

***

Ten hours of being in the same vicinity as Professor Park pass by quickly when you spend at least a quarter of those hours bantering and stealing an extra fifteen minutes to smoke behind the building.

" _—citizens are to be on High Alert. The police have found no new information regarding the serial killer—_ "

"See you in a few hours," Soonyoung says, pocketing his phone and cigarette pack before slamming Junhui's car door closed.

The air is stagnant for once, and Junhui can completely roll down his window for the first time in a while. His impromptu morning confession aside, it's been an alright day, and his backpack is light from having nothing in it save for his laptop. Junhui idly plays with his zippo; opening the lid and snapping it shut repeatedly, in time with the pop song playing from the radio. When he decides to finally light up a cigarette, it's warm and the plumes he exhales are slow and thick, obscuring his line of sight.

He wastes the next fifteen minutes or so doing this; conjuring a cloud of grey before him to the point where it probably looks like an airbag crushing him. In the midst of this thrilling pastime, he can't help but notice the figure behind the plumes, some twenty-ish feet away from his car. The figure is still, a constant blur that's closer to black compared to the grey of his smoke. It's unsettling.

Junhui stops himself from reaching for another cigarette. He lets the smoke settle around him, grey fading away but the figure remains, black darker and their outline starker. His heart leaps up to his throat when he hears the first footstep, obscenely loud considering how far it is, how slowly they come, as cloying as the plumes Junhui is surrounded by.

The figure is probably less than ten feet away from Junhui, and he can see the glint of silver on the figure's side. Junhui feels his blood run cold; it's the killer, it can't be anything but the killer, and he's going to die because his head is too light for the rest of his body that's glued to his seat by nicotine.

Five, four, three feet away, and Junhui shakily places one hand on his shift knob. He has his foot ready on the gas pedal. The figure—the _killer_ —is almost a foot away from the front bumper when Junhui shifts the knob to drive mode, and the tires make a piercing screech against asphalt when the car jolts forward but Junhui hits the brakes upon hearing the door open on the passenger's side—

" _Motherfuck_ , Junhui, are you trying to get yourself killed?" Soonyoung barks, gripping tightly on the car door. Junhui stares at him like he's a ghost, chest heaving up and down. He whips his head to look past his windshield; the smoke is gone and there's no figure in black or knife in sight. Relieved, Junhui rests his forehead onto the steering wheel, breathing labored and heartbeat pounding loudly in his ear.

"Did you see anyone around when you walked here?" he asks, words choppy and jumbled from how breathless he is.

"No," Soonyoung says with a befuddled shake of his head. "Listen, are you tired or something? Honestly, I think I can hitch a ride home with a co-worker. Why don't you go first? You look really pale."

Junhui lifts his head from the steering wheel and flashes Soonyoung a quick smile. "Yeah," he says, perking up. Adrenaline still thrums in his veins, making him tap his fingers restlessly. "I'm fine. Are you on break?"

Soonyoung nods. What felt like twenty minutes has been at least two hours, and Junhui glances at the radio's clock in horror; fifteen minutes to ten. "I'm out of cigs so I'll bum off yours."

"Be my guest." Junhui offers Soonyoung his pack of Winstons. There's a tremor in his fingers which Soonyoung notices. He looks at Junhui with something akin to concern, and it's foreign.

"Did something happen?" Soonyoung asks around a trail of smoke. It's definitely a strange night, Junhui thinks, because Soonyoung doesn't exhale mint and sharp tobacco for once.

"I think I saw the killer," Junhui laughs emptily. Soonyoung furrows his brows, lips a tight line as he looks away from Junhui. The diner's neon sign casts a red glow on Soonyoung's face, and Junhui is grateful for how it's too vibrant to be considered similar enough to blood.

"You wanna sit in the diner?" Soonyoung offers. "I know you don't want me dead, but I'm living under your roof right now, so I'm actually worried."

And that's how Junhui lets himself get whisked away into the quiet murmur of Velvet Diner on a Thursday night. It's a welcome change from the constant view of the parking lot, watching Soonyoung flit about the tables, deft hands expertly balancing the tray full of coffee and hastily made sandwiches.

 _Don't get the wrong idea_ , Junhui tells himself. Soonyoung is just being a courteous human being, someone with a proper set of morals who doesn't want to let his caretaker (of sorts) die on his watch. It's the same for Junhui anyway. Except somewhere along the whole spiel of morals and guilt he let a hint of loneliness in, and now he's landed himself in the icky swamp of feelings. The last time he was there, it was the second year of college with a girl who is married now, last Junhui checked on Facebook. Soonyoung places a mug of piping hot coffee before him, a light brown not unlike Junhui's hair, and it's in a standard white mug instead of their usual paper cups.

"I added cream and sugar," Soonyoung explains upon seeing Junhui's puzzled expression. "Sorry if you don't like it."

"No, it's okay. I like it." Junhui wraps his hands around the warm mug, and Soonyoung grins slightly. He leaves Junhui to wait the other tables.

Junhui scrolls through his apps without much thought; the last hour and half of waiting for Soonyoung goes by in a daze as he sips his coffee at intervals, down to the last dregs of bitter clumps and undissolved cream.

"Hey," Soonyoung calls out, leaning close to Junhui's face so he sounds louder. He's still in uniform, but the two top buttons are undone. "I'm closing shop for the day. Wanna wait in the staff room?"

Flustered, Junhui gets up. "Nah," he tells Soonyoung, rubbing a hand across his face. "Actually, can I at least help lift up the chairs?"

Soonyoung lets him, and they get into the car by ten minutes past twelve midnight. Record time. Soonyoung offers to drive, but Junhui tells him it's alright. It's been a long and strange Thursday, and he'd like to have at least this semblance of routine to end off the night (even if it's technically already Friday).

"So I thought of it," Soonyoung starts, several minutes into the drive. "What you said this morning."

"You did?" Junhui chuckles, hoping that it's enough to hide the tension in his voice. He sees Soonyoung nod out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, I did. I decided that I won't reject your uh, feelings." Soonyoung says all this deliberately, rolling the words around in his tongue before blurting them out to Junhui. It gives Junhui some peace of mind knowing that Soonyoung it at least taking it seriously. "I don't know how well I can reciprocate, though."

"It's not like you have to," Junhui says.

"I'd feel bad," Soonyoung admits with an uncharacteristically shy laugh. "And besides, isn't there this old middle school theory about liking someone back after they confess to you?"

***

Soonyoung kisses Junhui the next morning with coffee-stained lips and ashes on his tongue. "This isn't my answer," he says, "but I'm not doing this to feel okay or just get by, understand?"

Junhui nods, and Soonyoung offers him a close-lipped smile before leaning in for another kiss.

***

Junhui is driving again, his old Toyota down a narrow road that he can imagine clearly off the top of his head by now, except the fog thickens by each passing day, and it's getting harder to see where the twigs end, scratching the surface of his car.

He's learned to tune out the choppy radio, but his fingers remain glued to the steering wheel. He's never been able to let go of the damn thing. There's a sharp turn coming in what he's counted many times to be five seconds, and he rounds it on autopilot, a wave of reds, oranges, and yellows on one side of his car where he collides with a pile of fallen leaves. 

After the turn is Soonyoung's entry into the whole dreamscape. Junhui blinks, and is no longer surprised at the man seated next to him without the car door opening or him stopping to let the man alight. The Soonyoung of his dreams stopped wearing a t-shirt since the beginning of November, replaced by a beige jumper with its frayed hemline.

Junhui had tried not turning his head around, to extend the drive as much as possible and avoid the inevitable crash, but it didn't work. His neck would involuntarily move his head, shifting it so that he meets Soonyoung's eyes and each time they do, it's the same sickening _crash, boom, bang_ that ends in a torrent of broken glass, a knife lodged in Soonyoung's chest, and something piercing into Junhui's heart through his spine.

Except this time, in this particular dream, Junhui is still alive, still awake even though he can't breathe, can't really discern what's in front of him through the inanely searing pain in his chest, flaring up to his throat in bubbles of hot blood. Soonyoung remains still, dead. Junhui looks away from him, feeling tears well up in the corners of his eyes. He blinks them away, and the world after that becomes a tessellation of hexagons.

Some ten feet away from him, obscured by fog, is a figure in black. Junhui hears it again; the same footsteps from the last time in the diner's parking lot encompassing the volume of his car's radio. Five feet; he can see the glint of a blade by the figure's side.

The figure places one gloved hand on the hood of his car, and Junhui can't see anything past that point; the fog rushes in and drowns the fire of autumn in its sordid winter grey.

***

"You could look a little more alive for someone on his day off," Soonyoung mutters around his cup of coffee, distractedly watching a YouTube video on his phone.

"I could," Junhui mutters back, unable to get the latest dream out of his head. The tally is nearing sixty, but he can't be bothered to celebrate anymore. The killer has seen him, and while Junhui has no hard proof that the black-clad figure is the killer themselves, he's convinced.

Soonyoung pads over to the kitchen, rinsing his cup in the sink. "C'mon," he drawls, rushing back to the living room and placing both hands on Junhui's shoulders. It's wet and cold. "It's a relatively nice, overcast day. We should go somewhere."

Junhui stares at him, perplexed. "We?"

"Yes, we. While I wanna sort some things out, I don't wanna be anywhere near this town."

 _So you're gonna move out someday_ , is what Junhui thinks, but he doesn't voice it out. He settles for a nod and an _okay_ before they both get changed into something warmer. It's forty degrees outside.

"Where to, sir?" Junhui inquires mockingly when they get into the car. It feels like a new car, somewhat, without their backpacks crammed with sheets of data and the cloying stench of grease.

"Anywhere," Soonyoung breathes, stretching the seatbelt over himself and clicking it in place. "Actually, the neighboring town. Its arcade is pretty fun, or so I heard, and they have better coffee."

The Lilac Building is about eight, ten miles away from the town's border. It's a Tuesday afternoon, just a few minutes after one, and while Soonyoung was confused as to why his first day off from the lab is on a Tuesday, Junhui told him not to question it and enjoy the quiet traffic (not that there was any in the first place). The town greets them goodbye with a childishly-designed billboard.

Buildings grow scarce, and twenty minutes into the drive, Junhui finds himself nauseous from the continuous palette of red around him, autumn leaves cascading in a dizzying fashion similar to his dreams.

"This is what it looks like," Junhui says with bated breath, "my dreams. They look like this."

"Really?" Soonyoung asks him, glancing around at the visage of fall surrounding them in its full glory. He rolls the window down, and the heady scent of dead leaves permeates the car; a musty sort of scent that honestly hits closer to sweet, but rottenly so, and it stings the eyes.

The pavements disappear along with the street signs, and they're left to navigate a bare road, trees closing in on them from both sides. Junhui would believe that they're being engulfed in flames if it weren't for the fact that it's frigidly cold for a fall afternoon.

"Hey, stop here," Soonyoung prompts Junhui with a tug on his sleeve. Junhui stops the car reluctantly, glancing about the area with overt apprehension. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing," Soonyoung assures him, reaching over to turn off the engine himself.

"Where are we?" Junhui asks, because around them are trees and more trees, bark a dark brown that's nearly black. The leaves underneath his shoes don't make as much noise as he thought they would, and red keeps entering his vision; it's hard to see Soonyoung in front of him.

Soonyoung notices Junhui lagging behind him and walks a few steps back to take Junhui's hand in his. "When I was in my weird high school-induced funk, this was my getaway. A hideout, if you will," he explains. Junhui can't help but feel bad for not hearing Soonyoung out much, too busy gawking at Soonyoung's fingers clasping his. "I used to come here with Wonwoo."

Wonwoo.

Of course. Junhui can feel his palms start sweating. "Why are you holding my hand?"

"You looked lost."

"If that's the only reason, then you can let go," Junhui says, voice small amidst the crunch of dead leaves and fallen twigs under their feet. "My palms are gonna get gross and sweaty."

Soonyoung glances at Junhui from over his shoulder, gripping Junhui's hand even tighter. "It's not the only reason, and I don't care about that. My palms are sweaty too."

Time slows with every step Soonyoung takes, echoed by Junhui. He blames it on the lack of variation in the scenery around them as well as the hypnotic effect of falling leaves. It feels like a lifetime (but also twenty minutes) when they finally reach a clearing without any trees. There's a weathered campsite in the center, the tent's skeleton horribly out of shape and there's mold growing all over its surface. Soonyoung lets go of Junhui's hand to carefully peek into the grotesque figure, gingerly pulling out a couple novels and a flare gun.

"While I can't immediately make my massive crush on Wonwoo disappear so quickly, I can definitely let it fade." Soonyoung tosses the books away after spotting mushrooms on the covers. "They've gone stale anyway. He's happy with Jeonghan. I won't be surprised if they're getting married tomorrow."

"So you don't have any plans to move to the city?" Junhui hates how strange caring sounds in his own voice.

"I've been there," Soonyoung mutters, flicking the grime off his flare gun. "I prefer the towns. I get fed up by ours sometimes, but it's better than the city."

No longer able to stand the litany of leaves and twigs and wind, Junhui takes his Winstons out, lighting one up. The crackling of flames licking at paper is comforting, and it's the only thing Junhui is able to grasp at when Soonyoung approaches him with a sly smirk on his face. "What?" Junhui mumbles.

"Nothing. It's just that I didn't know you cared _that_ much." Soonyoung points at Junhui's cigarette with a raised brow, and Junhui removes it from his lips, watches Soonyoung fit the filter between his teeth before taking a puff; a habit he's picked up from biting at menthols. It's distressing, how Soonyoung is supposed to be the teenager in all these scenarios with his often childish antics, but Junhui ends up committing the most amateur blunder known across all age groups.

"I mean, you can go to any Nebula branch you want after your internship. I'll sign the papers, hand you your documents, write your referrals... and you're good to go."

Soonyoung blows the smoke away from Junhui's face before taking a step forward to give Junhui a peck on his cheek. "I think I'm fine where I am," he says, a little red in the face. They try to maintain eye contact, but it crumbles down when Junhui snorts, hands coming up to hide his laughter. Soonyoung shoves at Junhui's shoulder, grin wide and showing teeth. "Say, how are those dreams of yours? Have they stopped?"

"About that," Junhui starts, but the rest of the sentence is caught in his throat when he sees a familiar figure behind the trees, far at the opposite edge of the clearing yet so, so dangerously close. "Soonyoung."

Alarmed by Junhui's change in tone, Soonyoung stubs out his cigarette against the sole of his shoe, giving Junhui his full attention. "What?"

"Don't freak out," Junhui whispers lowly, eyes focused on the figure that for the mean time is only as tall as Soonyoung's head. It'll only get taller, get closer, as it is doing now; heavy footsteps encompassing the rustling leaves hammer into Junhui's brain. "Listen, I need you to hold my hand and run. Bring your flare."

Before Soonyoung can ask him anymore questions, Junhui sees the glint of silver that has been haunting him for weeks—he grabs Soonyoung's hand and sprints away from the clearing, back into the thick of trees and dead foliage. He doesn't know where he's going, but there's a thin strip of grey in the horizon, and he desperately tries not to look back.

"Fuck, Jun," Soonyoung pants, "it's catching up, _fuck_."

  _I know_. Junhui can't say anything without feeling like he's going to vomit his guts out, lungs burning and his ankles smarting. He can still hear the killer, loud and nauseating in his head, and it only spurs him to run faster.

"I'm shooting," Soonyoung shouts, slipping away from Junhui's grip. When Junhui turns around to get him back, Soonyoung has his arms stretched before him, smoke trailing from the barrel of his flare gun as crackling sparks fly straight ahead to knock the figure down to the ground. Soonyoung scrambles back up on his feet, trembling hands finding Junhui's again before they dash off to the outskirt where Junhui had parked his car.

Junhui revs the engine up before he can even properly close his car door, not bothered to wait for it to warm up before stomping hard on the gas pedal. It's quiet in the car save for their panicked wheezing. Junhui can hear his teeth grating against each other.

"That was the killer?" Soonyoung stammers, high-pitched and shaky. Junhui still can't speak, so he nods. His mouth is dry from how much he's panting. A glance at the speedometer shows Junhui that he's driving at seventy miles per hour, and Junhui sinks back into his seat, releasing the gas pedal slightly until he's back to sixty.

"Fuck," he wheezes, "the killer really did see me. I'm doomed."

"You're not," Soonyoung tells him. "I shot him with the flare. I don't know if that can kill, but it should hurt."

"Do we call the police?" Junhui chokes out.

"We can let them rot there," Soonyoung says sharply, but Junhui can't find it in himself to laugh. Grey and red and grey and red and grey—his eyes are dry; he hasn't blinked for a while.

"How long until we reach?" Junhui asks, turning his head away from the dreadful autumn scenery to look at Soonyoung instead. Soonyoung pulls out his phone.

"Ten minutes," he says, almost triumphantly with a relieved smile on his face until he looks up from his phone screen. "Jun, _in front of you!_ "

Junhui tries to swerve his car, but his hands falter, brakes hit a second too late and he crashes, sixty-five miles per hour, into the black-clad figure before the car—the same figure that Soonyoung had shot, but it's unscathed, and it managed to chase down a speeding car. None of this matters, though, when Junhui has definitely killed the figure, hands shaking like mad when they finally remember how to function—

—he veers the car straight into the neighboring trees.

***

The radio is off, and there's no fog to obscure Junhui's vision. His windshield is completely wrecked, however, shards of glass stuck in the skin of his face and hands. They sting, and he rolls his head so that the side is pressed against the airbag, and he can see Soonyoung. Soonyoung is in a similar state, though unconscious and neck a horrid shade of red from the seatbelt. But there's no blood on his jumper, no knife lodged in his heart, and for that, Junhui is grateful.

The last thing he sees before drifting off is the torrent of reds, oranges, and yellows falling into the car from the broken windshield.

 

 

**the epilogue (now, aren't you glad we're finally here?)**

There are no charges to be pressed, no major injuries worth reporting save for a particularly deep cut on Junhui's face that needed four stitches (Soonyoung assured him he still looks fine). Junhui's insurance doesn't cover his roadside blunder, and so he's back to the life of scrimping for a new secondhand Toyota.

What Soonyoung and Junhui do end up getting after the accident is an access card allowing them to see Qian, the psychiatrist, for a grand total of ten hours spread across ten counseling sessions on account of PTSD. The state said _allow_ , but what they meant was _mandatory_ ; Soonyoung and Junhui find themselves sinking into Qian's couch every Friday evening for counseling, though they both know very well it's acting troubled for the first three sessions, obedient for the next four, and complacently happy for the last three.

PTSD; Junhui snorts. It was due to the fact that when the officers worked on their accident case, the two of them couldn't shut up about serial killers, the six murders, the PSAs which used to unfailingly play in the hours of seven-fifteen (a.m. and p.m.).

"What're you crazy kids yapping about?" one of them callously guffawed. "What serial killer? Halloween is over, get a grip."

The town apparently never had a serial killer to begin with. Junhui backtracked his newsfeed as far as early May; the six murder victims had died in various accidents without any obvious correlation. The older ones had passed away peacefully in bed, according to the obituaries Junhui scavenged in the town library, and Junhui until this day still doesn't know if he should feel glad over this new fact or guilty for knowing the truth. But the thing is that everything he and Soonyoung knew to be true has been crudely erased, traces left all over the place. The serial killer never existed, but six people died nonetheless between the months of May to October, Wonwoo and Jeonghan are in the city, and Junhui is still living together with Soonyoung.

"We moved because of Jeonghan's job, remember?" Wonwoo had said over the phone the other day.

"But what about the killer? I'm living with Junhui because of the killer—no loitering alone after dark and all that," Soonyoung tried to explain. "Fuck, remember Junhui? You didn't like him much, remember that?"

"I didn't like him because he's older and your superior. Anyway, enough of that. What's all this killer business? Is everything okay there?"

Soonyoung looked at Junhui imploringly, mouthing _help me_ whilst pointing at his phone. Junhui had shook his head, telling Soonyoung to drop it because no one remembers the serial killer save for the two of them (and the remains of Junhui's old Toyota), and this is the new reality they'll have to come to terms with.

"What now?" Soonyoung asks, naked body draped over Junhui as the latter watches outdated Vine compilations on YouTube. His skin is cold, Junhui notes, sneaking a quick look at Soonyoung's wet hair, fresh out of the shower.

"It's a quarter past one," Junhui drawls, a little sleepy. "I haven't showered, tomorrow is a Wednesday, and we're gonna be stuck in a lab with Park and his horrible tea for ten hours. Your internship is ending in less than two months, and I guess we like each other enough to sleep together? We should sell your old mattress."

"Sure," Soonyoung snorts, lifting himself off Junhui to put on some clothes. "Go shower."

Junhui sticks out his tongue, and gets a damp towel lobbed in his face.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [2009 voice] welcome to the peanut gallery


End file.
